[ 12. 10 ]
if living is the longest thing we do
next to suffering,
why are we humans
in such a rush?
why doesn't everyone understand that
waiting is possible -
that event can wait
that person can see you again,
that there's hardly a need for
haste?
i've lived in the world of hustle and bustle,
trying to keep up with their pace at the expense of
myself -
i feel this exhaustion i can't shake away in my bones
in an attempt to hurry up
when i'd much rather be in my bed.
consider this my time of standstill,
my time of observing the hustle
and wondering what's the rush
YOU ARE READING
past oblivion.
Poetry"what can i really say?" used to be my words, when i didn't know as much. when i got older, i responded to myself. "everything." now, i realize that i can use my breath to speak on everything in existence, from dust on jupiter to the depths of hell...
